Pink Hearts
by SilenceintheGraveyard
Summary: Sherlock doesn't celebrate valentines day. But does John?


Pink hearts. That was all Sherlock had been seeing for the past week. Everywhere he went, without fail, there were pink hearts in some way, shape, or form; as confetti on the tables of the sandwich shop, garlands strung along the windows of Angelo's restaurant, cardboard cutouts in the window displays of convenience stores, even the cookies sitting on the platter on his kitchen table. Sherlock stared down at the little sugar hearts with pink, white, and red frosting, wondering where they came from. There was a vase filled with red roses, too. He heard a set of heels clunking up the stairs, slight limp in the left foot, a squat, shuffling gait; Mrs. Hudson. She shouldered the door open with a grunt, arms full of—judging by the smell—fresh laundry.

"Mrs. Hudson, where did these come from?" Sherlock demanded.

"What's that, dear?" she said, setting the basket down.

"These!" Sherlock said, gesturing at the cookies and flowers.

"Oh, I picked them up for you, I thought they'd…brighten the place up a bit."

"What's the occasion?" Sherlock asked, staring at her with his usual scrutiny.

"Valentine's day, of course!" Mrs. Hudson said, tone one of amused disbelief. "Don't tell me you didn't realize…"

"Of course I do, I just don't care," Sherlock said.

"Are you sure dear, it is such a cute holiday…"

"Please, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "To me, Valentine's day is merely the day with the highest suicide rate out of the year. Nothing more."

"Suit yourself," Mrs. Hudson said with a shrug, and started towards the door. Suddenly a nervous thought occurred to Sherlock. After all, he was the one who liked sweets…"

"Mrs. Hudson!" he called after her.

"Yes?"

"Do you think John celebrates Valentine's day?" he asked.

"Well, for as long as I've known him, every Valentine's day he's had /isome/i sort of date planned." Mrs. Hudson said. A smile played at the edge of her mouth, and she was giving Sherlock a significant look.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said with a slight nod.

Mrs. Hudson could hear the gratitude in the detective's voice, and winked as the door swung shut behind her.

Sherlock sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. Of course, romance…an essential part to any normal relationship. John and Sherlock's relationship wasn't what you'd call normal, but all the same Sherlock knew that John was a romantic sort, and would appreciate that sort of…gesture, as it were. So…should he plan something? Make dinner reservations? Buy a box of chocolates or some other small gift? No…wait…John knew what Sherlock liked; surely he wouldn't expect that much. In fact, he might even have something planned already. And thanks to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock wouldn't be /icompletely/i empty handed. No, he would turn his attention back to his latest case…

A sudden shift in the position of the couch distracted Sherlock from the mental evidence list he'd been poring over. He opened his eyes to see John Watson sitting beside him, staring at him with a particular half smile on his face.

"What?" Sherlock asked, feeling a completely unjustified blush creeping up his neck.

"You're always most alluring when you're working on a case," John said, shrugging.

A noncommittal grunt was all he got in response. John laughed and took his shopping into the kitchen. Sherlock listened carefully to his movements; clink of milk bottles, refrigerator door opening and closing, and cabinets doing the same, then a sudden silence.

"I didn't think you celebrated Valentine's day, Sherlock," John said.

"I don't," Sherlock said.

"Then why are there flowers and cookies on the table?"

"I thought they'd brighten up the place," Sherlock quoted Mrs. Hudson, and smiled in amusement.

He heard John laugh a bit as he came back into the lounge, carrying the cookie plate and setting it down of the coffee table. John then picked up a cookie and took a large bite.

"Mmm," he said, "these are excellent. Try one?"

"No," Sherlock said, content to just watch John eat his.

His eyes focused in on John's full, soft lips as they moved, his pink tongue as it flicked out to brush away the crumbs.

"Are we doing anything tonight, John? For…Valentine's?"

"Do you want to do something?" John asked, sounding surprised.

"Well, no…Valentine's means nothing to me, John but…if you wanted to do something…" Sherlock trailed off, hoping John wouldn't be offended.

"I wasn't planning on even mentioning it, to be honest," John admitted. "I know cheesy romance isn't something you enjoy…or even want.

Perfect, Sherlock thought. In that case, they could make other plans.

"You know, I think I will try some of that," Sherlock said as John took another bite of the cookie.

The detective leaned forward and ran his tongue slowly over John's lips, licking off the excess icing and crumbs. John closed his eyes and let his mouth fall open slightly, inviting more—no—begging more. Sherlock leaned in closer and licked the doctor's lips again, enjoying their taste and texture. John moaned, placing his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and pushing him back so that their eyes met. Sherlock saw the desire in his dilated pupils, and it only made him hungrier.

"Perhaps we should stay in tonight," John said a bit breathlessly, and Sherlock nodded.

John reached up and pulled Sherlock's face to his, lips meeting in a deep kiss. Sherlock felt the little thrills of excitement that only John could cause shooting through his nerves, and closed his eyes in bliss. John's tongue prodded Sherlock's lips, and the latter gladly granted him entrance. God, he tasted wonderful; like tea, mint, and frosting. Sherlock moaned quietly, feeling himself slide down onto his back, John on top of him, his hands going everywhere. God, what skilled hands! Sherlock felt the heat rushing to his face, and also lower down…the sudden hardness there. And he couldn't think straight anymore.

"John," Sherlock moaned, forcing their lips apart. "John…please."

"Bed," John said through his heavy panting.

He stood, grabbed Sherlock's hand and dragged him to the bedroom. Once there, John shoved Sherlock down on the bed and clambered back on top of him. Both of them wrestled with the other's garments, unable to get them off fast enough. The feel of skin against skin was an unbearable pleasure, and Sherlock continued to make a variety of noises he never made under any other circumstances as John explored him. With what was left of his mind Sherlock focused on exploring and caressing John, and was rewarded with some of the latter's special noises.

Then all at once they were all hands and lips and tongues and teeth, all working in perfect harmony, all completely necessary. And Sherlock felt that no matter how close they got, it still wasn't close enough.

"I love…I love you Sherlock," John gasped into his ear.

"John…John, you are my everything," Sherlock moaned back.

This was why Sherlock had always avoided relationships of all kinds. When he was this intimate, he couldn't think, his will was not his own. But with John that didn't matter, because he felt safe in the doctor's arms. John…his John…what a worthy person to receive all the love Sherlock was capable of giving.

A while later, as the two men laid side by side, hands intertwined, John sleepily whispered, "Happy Valentine's day, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at his John, whose eyes fluttering shut, already half asleep. He leaned forward and placed a gossamer kiss on John's mouth.

"Happy Valentine's day," he whispered back.

As he watched John drift off to sleep, Sherlock decided that from now on this silly holiday would mean more to him than cliché pink hearts and high suicide rates.


End file.
